A Little Taste of RED, available as an ebook and paperback from Kensington!
Chapter 2
Wives, submit to your husbands as to the LORD —Ephesians 5:22
They called it a glory hole, but there was nothing glorious about the dim little booths in the rear of the adult bookstore. The plywood was hastily slapped with black paint, and the concrete floors, sticky from God-only-knew what, sucked at her high heels. The only light came from the washed-out flicker of porn on the small screen in the booth with her.
The air held the faint smell of mold, sweat and jism under the cheap industrial deodorizer.
Yes, jism. Man-juice. Cum. Semen. The smell was unmistakable. After all, that was the point of this lurid little alley of closets where men came to shoot their load, alone with only video flesh and moans bought for a token.
She had never been here alone. She had come with him once, of course. That time he had merely taken her into one of the booths and used her. (Funny how his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of her neck could cause all bone and muscle in her legs to dissolve, even when the last thing she wanted was contact with that floor. By the time he had yanked her to her feet, pushed her against the wall and shoved his cock into her ass, she would have licked the floor if he’d asked her to.)
Today he was testing her, and she was a little disappointed. It was her birthday after all, and she had hoped he would come with her.
“Imagine the fear,” he had whispered through the phone line. “Imagine how your heart will beat. How your pulse will race. Walking into the back of that bookstore all alone. Feeling the eyes of the clerk following you. He’ll think you’re a whore. And he won’t be wrong, will he?”
Her heart jerked in her chest as she argued with herself.
You don’t have to get naked, the voice of reason whispered slyly in her head. He won’t know if you did or not. He won’t know if you actually did what he told you or not.
But he would know. She couldn’t lie to him.
She took off her dress, and then slipped out of her panties and bra. The thigh high stockings and stiletto heels, she kept on. Not just because he had told her to, but because she liked the way she felt wearing them.
She folded the dress into a neat square and positioned it on the floor in front of the hole in the wall. She drew in a deep breath, equal parts fear and arousal, knelt on her clothes and waited.
It wasn’t really a hole, either. The crotch-high rectangle cut in the plywood was big enough for her whole head to fit through. Big enough for someone’s hands to reach in….
She heard a door open. Steps in the hall outside. She could not breath, waiting to see if some stranger’s cock was going to appear through the hole.
Instead, she heard the sounds of tokens being dropped into a video machine somewhere further down.
She waited and wondered if a cop might show up instead. What would she do if she got arrested?
Oh, God…. Once more, she could hear feet outside in the hall, but no one came into the booth on the other side. Then all she could hear were the video moans and grunts over tinny porn music.
She brought her hands to her heavy breasts, stroking her nipples to distract herself. She craned her neck upward and back to see the threesome fucking on the screen. Two men had a third impaled on their cocks, one in his mouth, the other up his ass. The sight of it sent a gush of her own juices down her thigh. Why was the sight of three men fucking such a turn-on?
She didn’t hear him come in. He was just suddenly there.
But not on the other side of the hole.
In the booth. With her.
Oh, Christ, she hadn’t locked the door…. How could she have been so stupid?
She watched his thick fingers turn the latch, and heard the dull click.
She had a glimpse of dark, intense eyes looking down at her through a black ski mask …. And then a cock jutting through the khaki of his trousers as two hands came down on her shoulders.
Panic flared, but she clamped down on it. She could manage this. Just suck his cock and be done with it. That was all he wanted. If he didn’t leave, she’d start screaming. Cops be damned.
She bent her mouth toward him, but his knees and hands were forcing her backwards.
“No,” he snarled abruptly. “I don’t want your filthy mouth on me, whore.”
The words both stung and inflamed her. How dare he? And yet, she was a whore, wasn’t she? Her clit tightened, beginning to ache.
He reached down and grasped both nipples, twisting and pulling, even as he pushed her over onto her back. An outraged cry died on her lips when he spoke again.
“Man, you got some big titties on you.” His words came in a rasp, and she lapped up his excitement, drawing it into her like a succubus growing drunk on his lust.
Large rough hands pawed, squeezing her breasts as carelessly as he might scratch his own balls. The very authority in his touch made something inside her melt as he groped and plundered.
He was sitting astride her now. His long, thin penis slid against her breasts and down into the valley between them. Even the weight of his body, pinning her to the concrete, drove her mad with excitement.
“Yesssss,” he breathed. He held one breast, tightening his grip until the areola bulged over his fingers, and brought the other palm down in a sharp slap. “Big, soft titties. Just the kind made for titty-fuckin’.”
She moaned and instantly regretted it.
“Oh?” The whiteness of his teeth shone in a grin. “Little whore likes this, does she?”
He slapped her breasts again and her brain reeled.
This man was using her body, pushing her breasts together until they formed a substitute cunt around his erection. But she couldn’t deny the wetness between her legs. Even the phrase he’d uttered – “titty-fucking” -- aroused her and kept circling in her head. So deliciously dirty…
His hands cupped around the outer curve of each heavy mound, fingers curling into the soft flesh even as his thumbs found her nipples. The tips were so hard now they ached, sensitive even to the breath he exhaled in soft guttural grunts.
He spit on her, spraying tits and cock with saliva. Humiliation battled desire, loving the slick feel of it as he grew ever harder against her softness. He spit again, and again, until the cleft was as wet as her cunt.
When the swollen head of his cock peeked from between her breasts, her tongue flicked out like a starving thing.
“No, goddamn it.” He slapped her left check, then reached around behind him, brought something flimsy and pink to her lips and shoved it into her mouth.
Her panties, she realized. The satin gave up a musky she-juice as it settled against her tongue.
“Yes,” he breathed again, low and thick. He was rocking back and forth now, squeezing her harder, working toward his own satisfaction with a single-minded drive that would have offended most other women. Most. Not her, though. For her, it was ecstasy.
“Oh, baby, that’s it…. That’s it…. Love those fuckin’ tits—”
He was riding her, riding her titty-cunt. Harder, faster…. Her breasts were just his tools, a temporary orifice fashioned for his pleasure.
The first spurt of cum hit her chin, and he groaned with release as the rest of his load shot onto her chest. The thin white semen oozed down around her collarbone and a final squirt landed on her throat. She could feel its warmth slithering over her flesh.
He pulled the cap from his head, looked down at her and grinned. Oh, he was marvelous; he looked like an impish boy when he grinned like that.
Hadn’t she really known it was him from the first, or had there been real fear? She didn’t know for sure. The only thing that mattered was that he had, once again, made one of her fantasies come true.
“You said you wanted a pearl necklace for your birthday,” he whispered. “And I knew you didn't mean jewelry.”
She began to giggle, trailing her fingers in his cum and lifting them to her mouth.
“Oh, Roger,” she whispered, beaming up at him. “It was the perfect gift. Thank you.”
The air held the faint smell of mold, sweat and jism under the cheap industrial deodorizer.
Yes, jism. Man-juice. Cum. Semen. The smell was unmistakable. After all, that was the point of this lurid little alley of closets where men came to shoot their load, alone with only video flesh and moans bought for a token.
She had never been here alone. She had come with him once, of course. That time he had merely taken her into one of the booths and used her. (Funny how his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of her neck could cause all bone and muscle in her legs to dissolve, even when the last thing she wanted was contact with that floor. By the time he had yanked her to her feet, pushed her against the wall and shoved his cock into her ass, she would have licked the floor if he’d asked her to.)
Today he was testing her, and she was a little disappointed. It was her birthday after all, and she had hoped he would come with her.
“Imagine the fear,” he had whispered through the phone line. “Imagine how your heart will beat. How your pulse will race. Walking into the back of that bookstore all alone. Feeling the eyes of the clerk following you. He’ll think you’re a whore. And he won’t be wrong, will he?”
Her heart jerked in her chest as she argued with herself.
You don’t have to get naked, the voice of reason whispered slyly in her head. He won’t know if you did or not. He won’t know if you actually did what he told you or not.
But he would know. She couldn’t lie to him.
She took off her dress, and then slipped out of her panties and bra. The thigh high stockings and stiletto heels, she kept on. Not just because he had told her to, but because she liked the way she felt wearing them.
She folded the dress into a neat square and positioned it on the floor in front of the hole in the wall. She drew in a deep breath, equal parts fear and arousal, knelt on her clothes and waited.
It wasn’t really a hole, either. The crotch-high rectangle cut in the plywood was big enough for her whole head to fit through. Big enough for someone’s hands to reach in….
She heard a door open. Steps in the hall outside. She could not breath, waiting to see if some stranger’s cock was going to appear through the hole.
Instead, she heard the sounds of tokens being dropped into a video machine somewhere further down.
She waited and wondered if a cop might show up instead. What would she do if she got arrested?
Oh, God…. Once more, she could hear feet outside in the hall, but no one came into the booth on the other side. Then all she could hear were the video moans and grunts over tinny porn music.
She brought her hands to her heavy breasts, stroking her nipples to distract herself. She craned her neck upward and back to see the threesome fucking on the screen. Two men had a third impaled on their cocks, one in his mouth, the other up his ass. The sight of it sent a gush of her own juices down her thigh. Why was the sight of three men fucking such a turn-on?
She didn’t hear him come in. He was just suddenly there.
But not on the other side of the hole.
In the booth. With her.
Oh, Christ, she hadn’t locked the door…. How could she have been so stupid?
She watched his thick fingers turn the latch, and heard the dull click.
She had a glimpse of dark, intense eyes looking down at her through a black ski mask …. And then a cock jutting through the khaki of his trousers as two hands came down on her shoulders.
Panic flared, but she clamped down on it. She could manage this. Just suck his cock and be done with it. That was all he wanted. If he didn’t leave, she’d start screaming. Cops be damned.
She bent her mouth toward him, but his knees and hands were forcing her backwards.
“No,” he snarled abruptly. “I don’t want your filthy mouth on me, whore.”
The words both stung and inflamed her. How dare he? And yet, she was a whore, wasn’t she? Her clit tightened, beginning to ache.
He reached down and grasped both nipples, twisting and pulling, even as he pushed her over onto her back. An outraged cry died on her lips when he spoke again.
“Man, you got some big titties on you.” His words came in a rasp, and she lapped up his excitement, drawing it into her like a succubus growing drunk on his lust.
Large rough hands pawed, squeezing her breasts as carelessly as he might scratch his own balls. The very authority in his touch made something inside her melt as he groped and plundered.
He was sitting astride her now. His long, thin penis slid against her breasts and down into the valley between them. Even the weight of his body, pinning her to the concrete, drove her mad with excitement.
“Yesssss,” he breathed. He held one breast, tightening his grip until the areola bulged over his fingers, and brought the other palm down in a sharp slap. “Big, soft titties. Just the kind made for titty-fuckin’.”
She moaned and instantly regretted it.
“Oh?” The whiteness of his teeth shone in a grin. “Little whore likes this, does she?”
He slapped her breasts again and her brain reeled.
This man was using her body, pushing her breasts together until they formed a substitute cunt around his erection. But she couldn’t deny the wetness between her legs. Even the phrase he’d uttered – “titty-fucking” -- aroused her and kept circling in her head. So deliciously dirty…
His hands cupped around the outer curve of each heavy mound, fingers curling into the soft flesh even as his thumbs found her nipples. The tips were so hard now they ached, sensitive even to the breath he exhaled in soft guttural grunts.
He spit on her, spraying tits and cock with saliva. Humiliation battled desire, loving the slick feel of it as he grew ever harder against her softness. He spit again, and again, until the cleft was as wet as her cunt.
When the swollen head of his cock peeked from between her breasts, her tongue flicked out like a starving thing.
“No, goddamn it.” He slapped her left check, then reached around behind him, brought something flimsy and pink to her lips and shoved it into her mouth.
Her panties, she realized. The satin gave up a musky she-juice as it settled against her tongue.
“Yes,” he breathed again, low and thick. He was rocking back and forth now, squeezing her harder, working toward his own satisfaction with a single-minded drive that would have offended most other women. Most. Not her, though. For her, it was ecstasy.
“Oh, baby, that’s it…. That’s it…. Love those fuckin’ tits—”
He was riding her, riding her titty-cunt. Harder, faster…. Her breasts were just his tools, a temporary orifice fashioned for his pleasure.
The first spurt of cum hit her chin, and he groaned with release as the rest of his load shot onto her chest. The thin white semen oozed down around her collarbone and a final squirt landed on her throat. She could feel its warmth slithering over her flesh.
He pulled the cap from his head, looked down at her and grinned. Oh, he was marvelous; he looked like an impish boy when he grinned like that.
Hadn’t she really known it was him from the first, or had there been real fear? She didn’t know for sure. The only thing that mattered was that he had, once again, made one of her fantasies come true.
“You said you wanted a pearl necklace for your birthday,” he whispered. “And I knew you didn't mean jewelry.”
She began to giggle, trailing her fingers in his cum and lifting them to her mouth.
“Oh, Roger,” she whispered, beaming up at him. “It was the perfect gift. Thank you.”
